by Carol Arens
“Practicing the use of this here fork.” She turned it in her hand, trying to remember the exact way Antie had showed her to hold it. “I’m powerful hungry, though. I might just stuff the food in my mouth all at once.”
“Take care not to choke on a pig.”
“Don’t make me laugh and I won’t.”
There, that was it. With her pinkie finger poised just so, she gently poked the tines into the ham. “Wish you were on this side of the door.”
She heard the door creak as he slid down his side of it. He would be sitting back-to-back with her.
“It seems funny not to be able to talk with you face-to-face,” she said.
“When we get to the Lucky Clover things will be more relaxed.”
“Sure do hope it’s soon.”
“That depends on you more than anyone.” She heard him sigh, rap the floor with his knuckles. “The sooner you learn the ways of a proper lady the sooner we’ll go home.”
“I reckon you miss the ranch the same as I miss the Queen.”
“Honey, I miss it like I would a living, breathing person.” He was silent for a long time, but she heard his exhalation through the door. “I’m sorry this all led to you losing your home. I can’t lie—it did help me, but I wish things could have been different.”
“I like you, Travis. For you and for Agatha, I’ll do my durndest to make sure you don’t lose your ranch.”
“I need some fresh air. Let’s get out of here.”
“Antie won’t like it.” In fact, her poor instructor might turn purple over it. “I’ll beat you to the hallway.”
She gobbled a bite of pastry on the run.
Out in the hall, she nearly ran headlong into Travis.
“We’ll need to be quick—Antie’s planning on being gone a few hours, but plans change.”
“Let’s go!” He scooped up her hand then led her on a fast pace down the hallway.
Once outside, Travis took off his jacket and placed it over her head to shield her from the rain.
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to hide her or keep her dry. He wouldn’t know that she didn’t mind getting soaked in a storm.
Drops pelted the leather on her head. At the end of the boardwalk, Travis leapt off then lifted her down.
Their running footsteps squelched in the mud.
She had no idea where he was leading her. With the jacket over her head, all she could see was rain hitting the dirt.
It was funny, but even at the fast pace he set, she trusted him not to let her fall.
“Not much farther.” His breath came quick with the exertion of running.
After a turn and a short sprint they came to a shelter. The tap of rain changed from hitting leather to tapping a roof.
She drew the jacket off her head and handed it back to him.
“Where are we?” Not indoors, she saw, but under the overhang of a porch.
“A storage building that belonged to the railroad—they no longer use it. Figured you might like to see the train come in.”
“You figured right.”
He was still holding her hand when they sat down on the bench facing the track. Interestingly, she had no mind to bring this lack of manners to his attention.
She’d never sat and just held a man’s hand. It was a right pleasant thing to do. His big calloused palm made her hand feel delicate.
It was odd that she didn’t mind feeling delicate in this way.
Looking down the tracks, she didn’t see any sign of the train spewing smoke. That was fine; she was in no hurry to go back to the hotel.
Rain rolled off the overhang and splattered the mud a few feet away. It smelled fresh. She closed her eyes. If she imagined things just right she could pretend she was on the banks of the Missouri.
“What are you thinking about, Ivy? You seem miles away.”
Opening her eyes she smiled at him, felt his hand squeeze hers. It was a right friendly gesture, one she hoped her future intended would not object to. She had yet to even meet the man so she could hardly be held accountable for an innocent hand-holding.
“I suppose I was. I was thinking how the rain and the mud smell like home.”
Travis stared out at the wet afternoon, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles while he did. Seemed like he was the one deep in thought now.
“Do you think once I’m married, my husband will take me home for a visit?”
“Could be, after some time. Right now all his attention is on the election in November.”
“Must mean he’ll want a quick wedding, then. I won’t mind something simple.”
“William English won’t want simple, honey. He’ll make a social event of the wedding. Because appearances are everything to him, he’ll be showing you off, hoping folks will vote for him because of his beautiful wife. A wife who just happens to be the heir to one of the most well-respected ranches in the state.”
Travis thought she was beautiful?
That couldn’t be true. But if it was, if he did—
No! Ivy Magee was a river rat. Appearances meant nothing to her—except that maybe when Travis thought she was beautiful, they did mean something.
Why else would his words go and make her belly shiver? Or more properly, her middle?
Words were tricky critters, but wasn’t she allowed to say what she wanted to in the privacy of her own mind?
Gull-durn it, she was going to since there was no one to know the difference.
“Tell me more about William English,” she said, to distract herself from the strange flutter going on low down in her belly. “I know what he wants but who is he? Besides handsome. I saw that. But good looks don’t mean an upstanding fellow on the inside. They say Lucifer was something to look at.”
“He’s no Lucifer. He’s friendly, charismatic. And he’s got a way of making folks feel special. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. Partly to get your vote, but also because he’s got lots of shirts.
“I like him. I wouldn’t send you to a man I didn’t like and trust. Not even for the sake of the Lucky Clover.”
He wouldn’t? Just when the stirrings within her middle started to ease, her heart softened...simmered inside her like warm honey being poured over biscuits.
“The thing to remember about William is that he’s ambitious—nothing means quite as much to him as winning this election.”
“Must be true if he’s willing to marry a stranger.”
“He won’t be unkind to you.”
“Most people do treat their prize horseflesh well.”
“If you ever have a concern, about anything, I’ll be there.”
“How far is the English spread from the Lucky Clover?”
“A day’s ride, but William plans to make his home on the Lucky Clover.”
This was good news! Somehow this made her feel better about things. There was something about the ranch, the idea of it being hers, that gave her comfort, a sense of home and stability.
That made as much sense as a fly sucking vinegar, given that she hadn’t set eyes on the place since she was a tot.
But William would be in charge. “Will that change things for you...for everyone else?”
Especially Agatha?
“I’ll be in charge of running the ranch. The only interest English has as far as the Lucky Clover goes is that it continues to be well respected. It’s why he’s willing to cover the mortgage note.”
“I reckon that’s a fine thing, then. Not much will change.”
Except for her. She would change into a person she would have ridiculed only weeks ago. She would be stuffed into a woman’s traps, using refined words and keeping her clothes on, even near water. Not that the water in these parts looked refreshing or private
enough to indulge in a midnight swim.
“Who will I be?” she murmured under her breath.
Travis lifted her fingers to his mouth, kissed them. He slipped his arm about her shoulder and drew her close to his side.
She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She reckoned that’s what happened when one had a strong friendship with someone. You spoke from your heart. Trusted them to understand.
She’d never felt this companionship with anyone but Uncle Patrick. But gosh almighty, this was something different than she felt for her uncle.
She leaned her head into the crook of Travis’s neck. Sighed and snuggled against him. In a world gone out of her control, his presence was a sanctuary.
Chances were, English wouldn’t like seeing her cozied up to Travis this way, but she had yet to even meet the man who was appointed to be her husband.
Travis’ nose touched her hair. His warm breath stirred it.
“You smell like the Missouri,” he whispered.
“You smell like the plains.”
“Cow dung and horse sweat?”
His laugh rumbled through her, made her insides ache.
“Acres of grass with a warm wind blowing across it.”
He kissed the top of her head. Why was it that the warmth of his lips on her hair made her heart constrict? Uncle Patrick had kissed her head but it had never made her insides shiver.
“I’m glad that I’ll be living at the Lucky Clover. I’d miss you something terrible if I had to ride a whole day to see you,” she admitted.
“I’d miss you too, honey.” He slid away, but only enough to pivot toward her, to take her face in his hands. “You are a special woman, Ivy.” His breath fanned her face. She watched his lips move. “You wonder who you will be? Amazing, generous, wonderful. You won’t quit being who you are.”
“I like you, Travis,” she whispered. “You are a dear friend.”
“A friend,” he agreed, but his lips moved closer to hers.
“A dear friend.”
“Yes.”
Then his lips touched hers so lightly that the pressure might have been the whisk of a bird’s wing against her mouth.
Far in the distance, the train’s whistle echoed across the land.
She scooted away from Travis at the same time he scooted away from her.
But it didn’t matter how far away he scooted. He could slide to Texas and she would still feel the warmth of his lips, smell the scent of his skin on her face.
She licked her lips, trying to wash the feel of him away but it only made things worse because she tasted him again.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the emotion she saw in Travis’s eyes, rejected the yearning in her chest. There was only one man she was meant to taste in her life and it was the one sitting in front of her.
* * *
Two days.
Almost exactly forty-eight hours since Travis had done the unforgiveable and kissed Ivy.
He’d always heard that forbidden fruit was sweet. Now he knew it to be fact. Nothing had ever been quite so wonderful as kissing William’s future intended.
At the same time, nothing had ever felt worse. For a moment’s pleasure...no, not mere pleasure, for an instant of giving in to intimate yearnings for Ivy, he had threatened everything. Betrayed everyone.
Now it had been two days since he’d seen her. He’d spent time meeting with cattle buyers. He’d caught up on town news and purchased supplies for the ranch. Still, he’d ended up with too much free time on his hands.
He’d spent those long hours in a chair at the Cheyenne Club, brooding, wounded. Being a fool.
Yes, he was attracted to Ivy, cared for her deeply, but that did not give him the right to risk the futures of everyone at the Lucky Clover.
Ivy claimed to be his friend. He only hoped he hadn’t ruined the relationship that was permitted to them by an inappropriate kiss.
He cast a frown at the mirror, yanked the lapels of his coat into place. He could not run from his mistake forever.
He glanced at the door that connected their rooms, shook his head. Might be a good idea to nail the door closed.
Going into the hall, he pivoted right then rapped on Ivy’s door.
“Enter!” Madame’s voice called.
He walked into the room to find Ivy standing on a short stool wearing a yellow gown with yards of fabric draped this way and that. The bustle area stuck out so far that a dinner tray could be placed there.
Madame du Mer knelt on the floor with pins stuck in her sleeve while she tucked up the hem of the skirt.
“Howdy-do, Travis!” Ivy’s grin at him was wide and welcoming. Relief rushed through him. She still considered him a friend. “Don’t I look like the Queen of Sheba?”
“Non!” From her place on the floor, Madame clapped her hands. “How does a lady greet a gentleman?”
Ivy blushed becomingly. He doubted that was a part of Madame’s teaching.
“Antie and I have spent the livelong day learning the proper way to speak so—Good afternoon, Mr. Murphy.” Ivy nodded her head once.
“Much better, ma chère. Now give our gentleman the petite smile with your lips closed.”
Ivy smiled at him as instructed but the gesture did not look natural.
That stilted greeting ought to do fine in the social circle she was about to enter. Those polished women smiled falsely in the face of adversity every day.
“Help the lady down,” Madame said, standing with more agility than most women her age.
He crossed the room, politely offered his hand. Ivy took it, shot him a grin when Madame briefly glanced the other way.
“Now we will see how you walk in your pretty new slippers.”
Ivy lifted her skirt to her shin. “You paid a pretty penny for theses pinchers, Travis.”
“A lady’s skirt must go no higher than her ankles.”
“Blamed if I won’t have to walk around reading a rule book.” Ivy dropped the skirt but pointed the narrow toe of the shoe at him, turning it this way and that.
As much as she complained, he hoped she was at least a little bit pleased with the elegant clothing.
“Now, chère, go to the window, turn and come back. Greet Monsieur Murphy as though he were Mr. English come to call.”
Mr. English coming to call was something he was going to have to get used to, but right now the idea made him feel like he had ants crawling under his skin.
Ivy wobbled across the room, grasped the windowsill.
“Sure would like to take a switch to whoever decided women needed to walk around with their feet off the floor,” she grumbled, stomped the heel of her shoe on the rug. “Feels like I’m going to fall nose down on the carpet.”
“Wasn’t me,” he said. “I’m just standing here pretending to be your intended.”
“It’s but two inches. The elevation will become as natural to you as going barefoot,” Madame explained, but Ivy did not look half-convinced. “Come now, greet your gentleman.”
“I reckon a gentleman wouldn’t torture a lady.”
If Ivy was his wife, her pants and shirt would suit fine. As the owner of the Lucky Clover, her clothing would be practical.
But she was not going to be his wife, not ever, so the torture would have to continue.
Walking back across the room, she did better, only listing to the left three times.
In the middle of shooting him that tight, closed-mouthed smile, the formal nod of greeting, the heel of her left shoe caught in the carpet. Her arms flailed in open air.
She toppled toward him like a felled tree. Caught off guard, her weight knocked him off balance and he went down, his arms hugging her middle.
Petticoats exploded around his face, buried his ch
est. Through a clearing in the lace, he spotted the despised slippers kicking madly in the air.
But in the fall, his hand had shifted. His palm was pressing her breast.
“Gull-durned blasted female trap!”
With all the squirming she was doing to get free of the garment, he doubted that she noticed the brief indiscretion.
But if he lived to be ninety-three, he’d never forget how she had felt so full in his hand. In her struggle with the dress, her flesh jiggled against his palm.
The experience lasted only seconds, but the memory would serve a lifetime.
“Tiens!” Madame’s patience had to be near an end, but she helped untangle Ivy from him without the censure he had expected. “This is why we practice relentlessly. It would not do for this to happen in a drawing room.”
With a lot of tugging, pulling and yanking, Ivy’s dress fell away from him.
Sitting across from him on the floor, her legs bent at the knee and more petticoat showing than skirt, she grinned.
Apparently remembering her manners, she covered her mouth with both hands, but her eyes watered as she shook her head.
In the end, she didn’t seem able to hold back the laughter. It started as a quiet snicker then built to an outright chuckle that convulsed her shoulders.
Surprisingly, Madame smiled behind her hand.
In his day-to-day life, Travis tended to be serious natured. He had to be since folks depended upon him to be in charge, make the decisions that shaped their lives on the ranch.
But when he was with Ivy, the boy he had once been came out to play.
* * *
Restless, Ivy kicked off her blanket.
Back home on the Queen, the wee hours would see her on her private swim. She missed floating about, listening to frogs and crickets, watching the stars and just...being.
But here she was in Cheyenne. Wyoming was home now.
She sat up, looked out the window to see the full moon lighting the land.
Just because she could not float about naked, did not mean she could not go outside and enjoy the moon and the stars.
Dressing quickly in her natural clothes and snatching up Little Mouse, she left her room and tiptoed down the back stairs.